The Gatekeeper
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: All that stands between UNCLE HQ and a THRUSH invasion is Napoleon and he's busy flirting with the receptionist.


Pausing at the red light, Napoleon rapidly went through his daily tasks. If nothing went wrong, he might just make his date that evening. For some reason, that triggered a thought and he grabbed his communicator.

"Open Channel D. Illya, are you there?"

"I'm here. Where are you? You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago."

"I know. I'm just about to turn on Fifth."

"What? This time of the morning, it's going to be bumper to bumper. Besides, isn't Fifth a bit out of your way? You live in the opposite direction."

"It would be if I was coming from home."

"Oh, Napoleon! When are you going to learn it's much faster to take public transportation?"

"Ha, ha. The last time I did that, it took me three days to scrape the gunk off the bottom of my shoes."

"You just picked the wrong line. I did warn you about that."

"Listen I need for you to do me a favor."

There was a sigh. "Another one? Do you want me to make your apologies to Mr. Waverly?"

"I should be so lucky. Could you please grab the three blue files off my desk and meet me in Reception. I need to do a fast review of them before my meeting with Section Six. If the elevator is running slow, I should have just enough time to do it."

"And why are you meeting with Security and Personnel?"

"Because I have to." Napoleon grinned. "It seems they think one of our senior Section Two agents is being a little hard on our junior members."

"I see… they have no idea how much harder on them I intend to be."

"That's my boy. I will see you there in ten minutes. Solo out."

Illya frowned at his communicator, then tucked it into his pocket. If he stuck to Napoleon's timeline, he would have to leave the rest of his breakfast. It wasn't a very good breakfast, but it was against his nature to waste food. You only had to go hungry a few times to know the importance of every mouthful. Yet, he had a duty to help Napoleon mop the floor with those idiots from Section Six.

"What's wrong?" George Dennell sat down beside Illya and grinned. There was a gentleness to George and yet behind those dark rimmed glasses hid a mind that quite probably knew more about UNCLE than anyone besides Mr. Waverly.

"Napoleon tarried a bit too long this morning and is running late."

"Our Mr. Solo does like to burn the candle at both ends. Yet that is not new behavior for him."

"I know."

"Then what is the problem?"

"I'm trying to decide whether or not I can finish breakfast."

"Again, based on Mr. Solo's past, I'd say you have adequate opportunity to finish your breakfast, take a few laps around the pool, possibly catch a nap and still be in time to meet him." George checked his watch and stood up. "I, however, am going to be late if I hesitate much longer."

"What are you working on now?" Illya smeared some jelly onto his toast.

"You know the exploding buttons we make?" George took a manila envelope from a pocket and opened it. Turning it upside down, he dumped the contents on to the table.

"Yes." Illya picked up a zipper and examined it.

"Well, Swenson from our Denver office thought it would might be a good idea to make some similar with a zipper. If you zip and unzip it very quickly, you can start a fire."

Illya paused and chewed his toast for a moment. "George, there is only one item of clothes that I wear that routinely incorporates a zipper."

"And that, as they say, is the fly in the ointment. Get it? Fly?"

"Yes, I understand."

"We had one gentleman incur first degree burns when he mishandled his prototype." Illya shifted uncomfortably and George nodded. "It's back to the drawing board.

"Can I keep this?"

"Oh, sure, it's just a prototype. Don't sew it into any clothes and you'll be okay"

"Thanks."

Napoleon had intended to park in their garage, but by some miracle, a spot opened up just a few spaces down from Del Floria's and with laugh and a nod to his Lucky Star, Napoleon slipped into the spot before anyone else could claim it. He was on a roll now. He was only running thirty minutes later, which, by his record was nearly early.

He grabbed his briefcase, overcoat and hat, and, whistling, he walked into Del Floria's tailor shop, smiling at the tinkling bells. Del was with customers and the phone was ringing. Everyone was busy today, so Napoleon started to proceed towards the back of the shop without thinking much about it.

Pausing, he waited for Del to trigger the release so that he could, in turn, unlatch the changing room wall. Nothing happened and after a minute, he walked back out into the shop. Del was still engaged, so he sighed and resigned himself to more lost time and turned back to retrace his footsteps.

"Going somewhere, Solo? The party is just starting." The tone made him stop even before the words did. He turned and that's when he saw the Luger pointed at Del. The two men he'd assumed were customers weren't. They were armed and obvious of avian calling. "I thought it was you when you first came in. I just didn't think I could be so lucky."

"Ah… no, not really, nowhere important." Napoleon let his hand start to drift towards his holster, pausing as the weapon inched a bit higher. "And you seem to have the advantage Mr. …?"

"I'd stop right there unless if you want his death on your conscience. We're the Kray boys. You can call me Ronnie and that is my twin, Reggie.

"No, that's… ah, not really necessary… actually." Napoleon's mind was whirling. The television supposedly broadcasting everything back to Reception was dark. Napoleon knew that that alone would trigger an alarm inside HQ. "So what can I do for you gentlemen? THRUSH, I presume?"

Ronnie grinned. "You are going to make a phone call. You are going to tell them that the TV malfunctioned and they need to let you in right now." Napoleon looked at the phone and Ronnie gestured to it. "Answer it. And be very careful what you say. His life is in your hands."

Napoleon took a deep breath and lifted the receiver to his ear. "Del Floria's. How may I help you?"

"Napoleon, is everything okay?" He recognized the woman's voice. It was Jennifer, one of his favorite female type creatures. "We lost the picture in here."

"Everything is fine, Jennifer, I'm in a bit of a hurry. Let me in. Mr. Waverly is waiting for me."

"Not a chance, Solo," Reggie whispered harshly. "We know all about you and your habits, Solo. You are a world class flirter, everyone know it. You get all business like and you might as well shout it to the world."

Napoleon cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. "So what do you want me to do?"

"Do what you do best, Solo." Ronnie's Luger moved in his direction. "Flirt."

"That wouldn't be appropriate just now."

"Do you want him dead, Reggie?"

"Of course not. You hear the man, Solo. Flirt."

"Well, okay, if you say so." Napoleon lowered his mouth. "I'm sorry, my sweet. Del had a question for me. Seems the TV out here is acting up. Del was trying to watch the fight and something futzed out. We need to have someone look at it." He stared at Reggie without batting an eye.

"But…" Jennifer started, certain that she was going to remind him of protocol.

"And now that I have you on the line, I was wondering what your plans were for tonight."

"Tonight? But, Napoleon –"

"I know what I said before, but how about it now? You and me? A little wining and dining and then we can head back to my place and work it all off?"

"Mr. Solo!"

"No, no, don't be like that. I know what you told Illya, but I'm not all that bad. I'm a good guy. THRUSH is the bad guy here."

"I… I am really — Just a moment, please."

With a look of desperation, Jennifer looked up as Illya walked into the reception area.

"He's still not here? Napoleon is setting a new record for himself."

"Illya, thank God you are here. We have trouble."

"What's wrong?"

"Del's set went out and Napoleon is demanding that I let him in."

"Oh?"

"And he's flirting with me… really, really flirting with me. And he just mentioned THRUSH."

Illya set the folders down on the reception desk and gestured to the assigned Section Three agent. Taking up positions on either side of the door, Illya nodded.

"Let him in, Jennifer."

She nodded and picked back up the line. "I'm sorry, Napoleon. Mr. Waverly's cost-cutting measures are running me ragged. Now, where were we?"

Napoleon watched the Luger drift closer to Del's temple. "No problems, sweetheart. So how about it, you and me dancing under the stars tonight?"

"What about Illya?"

"He can get his own date." Napoleon laughed. "Now, how about you release the dressing room door and we can discuss this face to face? I have a meeting with the Old Man in three minutes and he will break his pipe if I'm late, so would you let him know I'm on the way. Then call a repairman. We wouldn't want any pesky THRUSH to get in."

"Okay, the door is released and I'll make that call."

Napoleon cradled the phone and turned just as Reggie cold conked the tailor. Del went down like a sack of potatoes and Napoleon hoped the man was not permanently injured. A fall like that could be potentially more dangerous than the blow to a man Del's age.

"So, how do you want to do this?" Ronnie came out from behind the counter and Napoleon raised his hands as all attention came to bear upon him.

"You really are identical, aren't you?" Napoleon asked.

"I'll go first, then you follow with Solo at gunpoint. Don't get too close to him."

"Hands on your head, Solo, palms upright, and walk slow. No funny business or I will shoot you in the back and never lose a minute of sleep."

"I expected as much."

They stepped through the door and Reggie stopped as a dozen weapons pointed in his direction.

"I got Solo," Ronnie shouted. "Drop your weapons or he's a dead man."

"How about you drop yours and I won't sever your spine?" Del was behind the THRUSH, a very lethal looking Walther in his hand.

"But you were out cold!"

"From that tap?" Del smirked. "I don't think so." He tapped his head. "I used to be a field agent, too, you know."

"You gotta talk to Illya, then." Napoleon looked around and spotted his partner, gun raised, carefully approaching Ronnie.

"Ha, ha. You are late."

"What did we do wrong?" Ronnie demanded as Illya efficiently disarmed him. "How did they know there was trouble? You didn't use any codes and it says in your file that the one thing we can count on is that you flirt like crazy."

Napoleon lowered his arms and shook the blood back into them. He stepped gingerly up to Reggie and plucked his gun away.

Napoleon smiled and walked to Jennifer. He took her hand and held it up for the pair to see. "I do, but give me some credit. Even I know not to mess with a married lady."


End file.
